


Countdown

by JustAWritingAmateur



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 12:36:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3290558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAWritingAmateur/pseuds/JustAWritingAmateur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Seto, please do try to act like you don’t mind being here?” "You could at least try asking more nicely, Ishizu.”  It's a gala night at the Domino Museum and Seto's not cooperating.  With forty minutes on the clock until they make their appearance, what can they do to pass the time?  Lemon. Rated M for a reason.  Comments/kudos are much appreciated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Countdown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [All_and_Sundry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/All_and_Sundry/gifts).



“Seto, please do try to act like you don’t mind being here?” Ishizu stepped over to where Seto was collapsed into one of the chairs in her office, uncharacteristically slouchy and loose, his feet in their perfectly-shined black shoes resting on one of the piles of papers on her desk, and put her hands on her hips in an attempt to get him to play along. 

It wasn’t as if these Domino Museum galas happened a truly obscene number of times per year, and as Seto Kaiba was not only the creme-de-la-creme of Domino high society (oh, how she mentally rolled her eyes at that thought), but additionally one of the Museum’s most generous donors (as well as Ishizu’s boyfriend of about a year, thank-you-very-much, Domino Lives of the Rich and Famous Weekly), Ishizu had hoped he would at least pretend to behave like the prince of rank he was in this strange world, this world of fine champagne and expensive cheeses and hundred-thousand-dollar cheques written to the Museum like it was nothing.

Even after years as head of the Egyptology department at the Museum, each gala event was another challenge, another test of her will, forcing her to push aside her natural introversion, to demonstrate her ability to blend in with these extravagantly-dressed people and pretend she belonged among them. Despite her own floor-length black-and-white gown and her simple but expensive gold jewelry, the only such gift she had allowed Seto to give her, Ishizu still often felt out of place; Seto’s own comfort--nay--sheer boredom with this class of people tended to rankle her more often than not.

Seto rolled his eyes before fixing that intent blue gaze at her and curling his scowl into a smirk as he took her in, clad in all her finery, for what had to be the eighth or ninth time that evening. “You could at least try asking more nicely, Ishizu,” he drawled, hooking a finger around his bowtie and pretending to tug it loose, much to Ishizu’s chagrin.

Ishizu gritted her teeth and tried to act as though that obscene gaze of his had no effect on her at this time--a useless game, that--and slapped his hand away from the silky fabric. “You know, Seto,” she replied, trying to make her voice sound even and controlled, “I could have invited Mokuba to this event.” It took me nearly twenty minutes to tie this blasted thing. She fiddled with the bowtie, ignoring Seto’s wry chuckle at her efforts to keep him maintained and presentable. 

Seto fought the urge to stick his tongue out at her in a most uncharacteristic yet cheeky way. “You wouldn’t dare,” he quipped, adjusting his posture so that he was sitting straight up in the chair, crossing one long suit-clad leg over the other. “Mokuba would doubtless eat all the food and find a way to get himself drunk on expensive champagne.”

“He’d still be a step up from how you’re behaving.” A quick glance at the clock on her desk revealed that they had about forty or so minutes until they were expected to mingle, wheedle, charm Domino’s rich and privileged out of their money, their art collections, the gold fillings in their mouths, for heaven’s sake; and here Seto was determined to make this waiting period, these last minutes of preparation in her office more difficult than it had to be.

Seto didn’t mind these galas as much as he let on; while he did prefer having his privacy whenever possible, something about this sly, slippery, shark-like game he got to play with the other museum donors pleased him, this subtle bragging about stock performance, the astonished, jealous looks the other, much older CEOs in the room gave him as he paraded Ishizu around the room (or rather, as she paraded him around the room), his hand possessively on her lower back, as if he had in his clutches the real catch, the true prize of the evening. 

Or perhaps it was the result of the galas; successful as they often were, and euphoric as Ishizu was after they ended, with something like a new collection of carvings or a donation for a gallery in hand, it usually meant the night would end well for him; that his “troubles” and efforts at “behaving” himself would go most heartily rewarded. 

Heh.

Seto cast his eyes lazily at the clock on the desk and noted the time; as Ishizu rolled her eyes in mock annoyance and stepped around his seated form to check her appearance in the mirror on her office wall, dabbing at the bead of sweat on her forehead and biting her lip almost unconsciously, Seto felt his pulse quicken. He swept his eyes over her form, taking in that delicately carved architecture of her shoulders and back, barely hidden by the lavish, low-backed dress he had insisted on buying her last week; her hips, clad so well, wrapped so damn appealingly in that black-and-white patterned silk; her rear--oh, her rear. The things he so enjoyed doing to it…

As if hit by a stroke of genius, he glanced once more at the clock, lips pressing into a classic Seto Kaiba smirk. Thirty-seven minutes.

I could do quite a lot with thirty-seven minutes.

Ha.

Uncrossing his legs, he rose from his seat, surprising Ishizu, who watched his movements in the mirror with increasingly widened eyes as he straightened out his suit, brushed some invisible lint off his ebony jacket--he does clean up nicely, doesn’t he, she mused--, walked over to the door of her office, and clicked the lock shut.

“Seto…?” Ishizu found her skin prickling, heartbeat stuttering as he walked over towards her, slowly, pantherlike, eyes meeting hers in the mirror, his face confident and utterly impossible.

She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply, hoping to steel herself against the onslaught of charm that she was sure was coming her way--and then she felt his breath tickle the shell of her ear.

“How am I behaving, Ishizu?” Seto murmured softly, cunningly, hands at his sides, posture casual, as if the mere fact of him in this close proximity to her did not make her instantly wet and unable to focus on more logical and necessary things. He watched her in the mirror, watched her eyelids flutter at the feel of his breath, the deep, husky vibrations of his voice reverberating in her ear, in her chest, between her legs, and felt his victory imminent in this game; she had already failed to keep her cards close to the vest, and now, assuming she wanted to play along, they were certainly going to be diverted for the remaining--he checked the clock once more--thirty-five minutes they had in her office until they were expected downstairs.

Ishizu squeezed her inner thighs together and tried to make her voice level, opening her heavy-lidded eyes to meet his in the mirror. “Seto. You’re behaving…”

She glanced at the clock on her desk--now thirty-four minutes and counting, and replied, a certain thickness crawling into her voice, despite her best efforts to conceal it--“quite badly, I’d say.”

I cannot believe I am doing this… oh, gods. She bit her lip again, cheeks blooming in a fresh rosy wave.

Seto grinned wickedly. My god, does she look ridiculously tempting, he thought as he studied that near-unconscious seductive quality an aroused Ishizu always had; how that fed his own unending desire for her in turn, until, frankly, neither of them could stand it anymore and the only way to settle the matter was to have him, in some way, shape, or form, doing something between her legs that broke them both beautifully and fully.

Seto leaned in towards her, her sweet scent filling his nostrils, as he gently placed his lips on the outside of her right ear, making her nearly spasm at the sensation, his left hand snaking around to hold her hip in place, pressing her exquisite rear to his groin. “Well, well, well, Ishizu-- what are we going to do about that?”

Ishizu rolled her eyes despite herself as she felt how ridiculous and rhetorical the question was, what with how damned hard he was already; mmm, she didn’t exactly want to let her mind go there, to what exactly she’d like to do to him in the remaining--how much time again?--thirty-two minutes they had until they needed to recover, to be made perfect and presentable once more, left to hide their dirty deeds behind placid smiles and formal body language, and oh, gods, his hand was now trailing down the side of her left thigh and clutching at the silk of her gown, dragging it upwards, the fabric whispering against her skin…

Then his lips dipped to a place on her neck between her ear and her shoulder and he continued, his voice growing low and needy, barely controlled as he rolled his hips against her rear, “I could think of a few things.”

Ishizu swallowed hard as his hand meandered its way under the silk of the dress, danced lightly along the edge of where white lace met hipbone, and then lowered, pausing teasingly at the apex of her thighs. He ran his middle finger along where the flesh pressed together and curled his finger upward, smirking when she trembled at his touch, feeling her lower body react to him in ways he found infinitely amusing and satisfying.

“Could you, now?” Ishizu’s voice came out more clearly than she believed possible; blushing inwardly, yet feeling a sudden surge of liquid confidence rush through her veins, nearly causing her to buckle her knees with want, she lowered her hand to where his fingers were toying about and guided them beneath the lace, enjoying wholeheartedly his apparent surprise, then pleasure as his index finger joined the other in rubbing against her, feeling delicious moisture dripping onto his fingers, a reward for his pains. “I think you- you could.”

Seto’s voice was almost a growl against her neck; he dragged his teeth upwards, eyes still fixed on hers in that mirror, until he reached her earlobe, which he sucked gently, watching with pride as her eyelids fluttered once more as he rotated his fingers between her legs. “Mmm. Ishizu… what’s stopping you right now from showing me what you think?” That’s it. Show me what you want. 

Ishizu had to fight pressing her lips together in slight annoyance at his reluctance to end the protracted game, the ones they so loved to play; but this was how he did things--he liked to rile her up, slowly but surely, until she was in thrall of her own need and made it abundantly clear to him what the correct response was.

But if the game was to continue…?

Twenty-seven minutes and counting.

I will not buckle first this time. 

Lips smirked against her neck, staggering her concentration. Seto’s free hand suddenly burned her flesh, despite the layer of silk between them, as he moved it along her torso upwards almost lazily; Ishizu studied Seto’s vivid gaze in the mirror as it dropped to the slight amount of cleavage on display and sucked in a cool breath as Seto extended his pointer finger and dragged it in a slow, painful circle on her breast.

“Propriety…?” She felt, rather than heard, his voice as it rumbled throughout her; her reflexive attempt to squeeze her inner thighs together in turn caused him to swirl his finger around until it was barely inside her--gods.

Seto chuckled against her skin, waiting with practiced patience for her to fold, to give in, to surrender and attack him, all lips and trembling fingers and ragged breaths giving way to half-suppressed sighs and expletives, as he moved both of his hands in tandem, causing a shiver to run through her body, licking at her electrically. 

“I mean…” he continued, punctuating his words with a gentle nip at her ear, “I can tell you’re certainly interested in what I think would be a good way for you to punish me…” His eyes shone brightly, wolfishly in the mirror, refusing to let hers go, to let her demur and look away with a characteristic crimson spattering on her cheeks.

Come now, Ishizu, show me. Don’t tell--show. 

Ishizu pressed her lips together tightly, fighting the oncoming haze, the fog of need that threatened to overtake her, to render her completely unable to think, to consider, to fight back and make the victory that much sweeter for the both of them, but Seto’s now two fingers rubbing so perfectly underneath her panties was making that quite difficult to accomplish, not to mention his hard length pressed against her rear, hips rocking gently in time with his strokes. 

How is he not giving in already? I can feel what you want, Seto. I can feel that you want it. 

She narrowed her eyes at his in the mirror and, a small smile curling at her lips, slid her hand from where it had been clutching at his own between her legs--when did that happen, she wondered idly-- and guided it with practiced ease to where he was pressed against her, feeling him, so hard, so good, and allowed her fingers to seek out his fly (no easy task, given their positioning).

Seto swallowed hard as her wandering hand found him, grasped at him, her sudden instigation causing him to groan quietly from the back of his throat; as Ishizu began rubbing at him languorously through his pants, allowing her nails to drag across him, across his hipbones and inner thighs, then--incredibly--rubbing her rear against him in synchronization with her motions, Seto nearly threw back his head in agony, his concentration on his ministrations faltering.

Ishizu watched Seto’s eyes screw shut tightly as she rocked her hips against him once more before repeating the motions with her hand, his own between her legs nearly forgotten, and felt herself smile almost cruelly. Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it, Seto. Don’t trifle with me.

She allowed one sultry, perfectly-pitched moan to escape her lips, just the thing to drive him over the edge, to push him past reason, to dissolve his will to win into nothing but pure want, pure need for her, for her lips, her thighs, her… “Mmm…”

Seto nearly fainted at the unholy sound coming from the bewitching woman pressed up against him, calculated though it was; his legs nearly buckled as her free hand moved gracefully up to the hand on her breast and guided it below the crisp neckline of her dress, his fingers drifting, then scrabbling as he felt warm flesh beneath his hand--she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Fuck.

Ishizu felt his gasp of surprise, of pleasure at the smooth skin of her breast at his fingertips and rocked her hips against his groin once more, and cut a quick glance to the clock on the desk. Twenty-two minutes remaining, the second hand ticking away naively, as if time was not of the essence in this most precarious of situations. Gods, he’d better cave soon or I’ll have to…

She layered honey into her now-breathy voice, nearly cooing, “you mean this isn’t punishment enough for you, Seto, baby?”

Despite himself, Seto groaned and summoned the will to move his fingers between her legs once more, to rub and gently stroke her clit, to call forth that perfect wetness that meant she not only wanted him, but needed him in the most base and filthy of ways. If you don’t watch it, Ishizu, I’m fucking you against this wall right now, so hard you won’t be able to stand tomorrow, let alone walk. 

Twenty-one minutes.

Damn. Seto somehow found his voice, ragged and clipped as it was, and growled, “Ishizu, I think you’re the one with the penchant for bad behavior…” and he extricated himself from beneath her panties, beneath her neckline, causing Ishizu to pout almost cutely at the loss of his fingers; he wrapped his arms around her waist tightly and pressed his lips against her neck, feeling himself twitch as he nipped at the smooth skin there, as her mouth formed a perfect evanescent “o” at his sudden roughness. 

Roughness she so dearly wanted right now.

“Mmm… maybe you should punish me, Seto…” Ishizu managed to breathe out, quietly yet firmly, suggestively, managing to drag her fingernails across his groin once more before his hands around her waist disappeared, and then suddenly she was facing him, feeling the wood paneled wall of her office pressed hard against her back; one of his hands was holding her wrists above her head and the other holding her hip in place against the wall, his eyes blazing, the ice nearly consumed with dark pupils as he leaned in towards her, brushing his lips teasingly against hers.

“Don’t think I won’t, Ishizu.” And then his lips were on hers, and his groin pressed against her own firmly, as Ishizu smiled inwardly, briefly, as she had indeed won this round of their endless match, their ongoing duel, if you will; his tongue flicked against her lips and she opened her mouth slightly to grant him access, and then his hands were gone for an instant before he slid them along the outside of her thighs, under the dress, to her rear.

She bit back a hard release of breath in surprise as he (seemingly) effortlessly lifted her into the air so that her legs could wrap around his waist, his fingers digging not unpleasantly into her thighs as he ground his hips against her; her arms folded around his neck, clutching at his hair, bringing him closer, needing more, oh gods, more, fuck, as the pressure of him between her legs brought every sensation into sharp focus. 

Nineteen minutes. 

Seto was going to lose it pretty damned soon if he didn’t get inside her, inside that tightness, that endless perfection, and though Ishizu wasn’t a heavy woman, already his arms were feeling a slight strain of holding her up--not like this, not like this--and so he lifted his lips from hers and cast his gaze wildly about the room until he fixated upon her desk, stacked high with papers and forms, the ticking clock serving to taunt to them both. 

Ishizu caught on nearly as quickly as he decided; “Seto--” and then the paperwork was somehow swept aside, careful piles fluttering to the floor in a disorganized mess, and then she found her breasts pressed hard against the wood of the desk, side of her face sliding along the smooth surface to face the ticking clock; eighteen minutes and counting and anticipation was roaring inside of her, thighs quaking with excitement as she felt his hands on her thighs once again, hiking up her dress, exposing her legs, and then she heard the clicking sound of his belt being undone, the unzipping of his fly, and then he was behind her, pressing against her and gods, she needed this, needed him inside her now, and so when he leaned over and nipped at her ear and growled, “you ready for this, baby?” she quivered, feeling his breath travel between her legs, and could only moan in response, “yes, please, fuck--”

And then he was inside her, searingly hot and hard and perfect, his hands gripping her hips, her own scrabbling to hold onto the edge of her desk, to give her something to hold, to keep her tethered to this world, as he rocked his hips against her, driving himself in deeper; god, she was so wet and this was just exactly what he needed, nothing else, just her and the noises she was making, her lying prostrate and wanting before him, begging for him, begging for more, more, more, her cries of need abstracting in his ears to form nothing, nothing but pure beautiful sound running through his veins.

Ishizu squeezed her eyes shut to ignore the ticking clock mere centimeters from her face; seventeen minutes, a mere seventeen minutes left before they had to finish, to clean themselves up, to pretend as if this little impromptu tryst hadn’t happened; her thoughts turned errantly to the utterly destroyed piles of forms that littered the floor, but a particularly fantastic thrust from Seto behind her pushed any concern out of her mind. She was sure that her carefully arranged hairstyle was undoubtedly ruined, wrecked beyond repair, not to mention the obscene way her dress was now scrunched up around her waist--but oh, oh, oh, what he was doing was so necessary for her sanity, to quench her acute thirst for him; his nails dug lightly into her hips, the jolt of pain mingling with the intense pleasure he was giving, giving so well and perfectly, knocking the breath out of her as she felt his energy flag slightly for a moment. No… please, come on, Seto, more… “Mmgh…” she managed as a bead of sweat dripped from his forehead onto the center of her exposed back, and when she felt him pick up again she couldn’t help but grin to herself cheekily, because she had indeed won, and oh, victory tasted so, so sweet.

For his part, Seto could hardly keep himself together--the view alone, combined with the pure sensation--he’d been overjoyed when she’d gone on birth control three months prior, making any barrier between them redundant and unnecessary--of him inside her, nothing preventing the feel of flesh meeting flesh, need responding to need, almost unmade him; he almost didn’t mind the nagging tug at his mind that he’d lost, that she’d gotten the better of him this time around, but, hey, if these were the results of a loss, he found he certainly wasn’t complaining. Besides, he mused, bending over to press a kiss to her shoulder blade, either way, in about fifteen minutes he would get to watch her, watch her walk about the museum lobby amongst the wealthiest patrons of the city, to watch her pretend that everything was normal, that she hadn’t indulged in something so naughty, so downright inappropriate just before a gala. The knowing, and the fact that only the two of them would ever know, pleased him immensely, and then he felt her tighten and moan quietly, her voice muffled by the desk, her release imminent, and with a huffed intake of breath and a throaty keen he was spent, and they whirled downward together, him collapsing rather heavily on top of her, their breaths eventually calming and falling in line with that endless, cruel tick. tick. tick.

Thirteen minutes remaining, and all Ishizu wanted to do was drag him back to her apartment immediately for a nice long shared shower; alas, that course of action was simply not in the cards. Seto grunted softly and ran his fingers through her ruined braid before pressing a kiss to that same spot on her back and straightening up, pulling out of her and preparing to make himself presentable once more. The whine of a zipper sealing shut, the click of a belt, the sound of fingers raking through short hair… thank god for the mirror.

Ishizu, meanwhile, closed her eyes and let them stay closed for a moment as she caught her breath. As Seto readjusted his bowtie and dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief, making him appear immaculate, powerful, in control of himself, of his urges, as the CEO of KaibaCorp ought to be, Ishizu felt her face twist into a pout as she pushed herself up from the desk, pulled the silk dress down over her hips once more, and set to half-heartedly readying herself once more. She combed her hair through with her fingers and re-plaited it, jockeying for space in front of her mirror, where Seto was no doubt admiring both himself and her at the same time, and attempted to calm the wild red spots on her cheeks that threatened to give her away. 

She could only hope she didn’t look as feral as she felt.

“Seto, is my dress completely wrinkled?” she found herself asking, voice rising in slight concern as she thought of how she must look, and how she was surely expected to look for the patrons. She bit her lip in concern as Seto took his time sweeping his eyes over her body, enjoying the view he so often did, before he replied huskily, “I think you’ll do just fine.”

Ten minutes remaining. Ishizu released a sigh of relief, inwardly rolling her eyes at Seto’s eagerness to eat her alive with his gaze, if only to be of help to her, of course; reluctantly, her vision drifted over to the spatter of paperwork on the floor next to her desk; calmed down now from the peak of lust, she couldn’t help but blush, then groan in annoyance as she thought of all the work that she would need to re-do since the original orientation of the papers and forms was, ahem, compromised.

Seto took one last glance in the mirror and then cut his eyes to Ishizu and smirked. Well, if this is losing… 

He closed the gap between them and gently pressed his lips to hers, feeling her come to life once more before him, her arms immediately rising to wrap around his neck, hips grinding against his.

“Shall we?” he murmured against her mouth, knowing that the timbre of his voice alone was once again wrecking her composure; Ishizu shuddered against him, then stepped away, much to her chagrin, and smoothed out her dress one more time.

Nine minutes remaining. She felt him follow her in her slow path to the locked door; as he reached around her to open it, to end this private moment between them and all that it had promised, all that it had fulfilled, contained--the things that poor desk that seen-- suddenly an idea struck her. 

A wicked one.

A smirk curving on her lips, Ishizu reached under her skirt, slid her white lace panties down her legs, stepped out of them gracefully, and handed them casually to a rather stupefied Seto Kaiba, who accepted the undergarment with no small measure of surprise.

“For you… an incentive, so that you don’t misbehave.” She leaned in close so that he could smell her scent, feel her lips on his ear, and then quickly turned her head away from him so that he couldn’t see her rather self-conscious blush, her pride at her own cheekiness, before she unlocked the door and opened it.

She cast a lazy, sensual glance over her shoulder in his direction. “Coming, Seto?”  
And then she was gone, walking down the hallway towards the elevator and disappearing into the darkness.

Seto fingered the lace delicately, the mere fact of them stoking his hunger for her anew, before placing them in the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket. That woman. That peculiar, impossible woman…

He took one last sweeping look around the office, nothing with pride the scattered forms on the floor, that impressively sturdy desk, before turning off the lights, shutting the door behind him, and followed Ishizu’s path towards the elevator, towards the lobby, where the game of power and money and generosity and sycophancy was to begin.

He was finding he preferred Ishizu’s games of power more and more these days.

If this is losing...

He smiled cunningly at Ishizu, who was holding the elevator open for him. As they stepped across the threshold and closed the doors, the elevator beginning its slow descent, his hand quietly found hers amid the folds of her skirts.

...I guess I can accept second place for once.


End file.
